The Caregiver
The frozen gravel enchants me in a way the summer road never does, scampering barefoot, pads of my feet tougher in June than these thin-soled winter boots now crunching raised rocks, slipping now and again; rhythm and cadence hypnotic, somewhat musical. Really it's more of a lane, tire tracks casting two deep ruts with no shoulder past the three widow's houses just outside of town. I'm heading back, having sat bedside with Martha, scones and tea barely touched, yet her eyes sparkled, lips curved, as I read Little Women. We were halfway through the book; could see the cast of characters dance in her mind for a good hour before she fell asleep, whereas I moved the blood-red Amaryllis from her windowsill, closed checkered curtains, turned on the Tiffany nightlight, and touched her dear, sweet cheeks with my lips before slipping out the front door, warmth of my wool cape about my shoulders, warding off twilight's chill fast approaching. The icy-blue fervour of sky before me, promising darkness and a wintry mix of sleet and snow, is a harbinger I welcome, actually admire as the moon glows softly; looking like a fuzzy grapefruit resting upon the horizon. The percussion of wind whispering against bare branches and ticking tall frozen grasses joins my rock crunching melody, and I look forward to the warm glow of a fireplace, a book, and the tucked-in feeling of a January snowfall.
by Margaret Bednar, January 10, 2020
Linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #1" - We were to use at least three words - I used all but one word... cogitation. Just couldn't make it work. But I used the other 19. Write 369 words or fewer. For this prose piece, I used 235 words. Well, I see this challenge has an expiration time - and I missed it. But it was still a good exercise and I will enjoy reading the other poets and writers.
